


Brute

by Avocado



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: F/M, Love, She/her pronouns, Smut, afab reader with a vagina, canon divergence - Gaston survives the fall, reader is a baker, what is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 10:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10637883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avocado/pseuds/Avocado
Summary: Gaston is a brute, but he's still handsome.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I regret everything
> 
>  
> 
> I am trash, forgive me
> 
> I love luke evans fangs ok

It was a routine the two of you had gotten into, you supposed. That was where it must have began. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that it had started, but for a while now your mornings would go the same way. Being a woman on your own in this small town, you had to earn your keep – so you manned a bakery. It had been your mother’s, and when she had passed, it had come to you – and if you didn’t want to end up on the street (or married, ha!) you had to work. So when the dawn rose every morning so would you, beating the dough into submission and cooking loaves. After a few hours of hard work you’d allow yourself a break to step into the cooling breeze, and there he’d be, across the town square, waiting.

It was difficult to deny that Gaston was a handsome man. That thick hair, broad chest, and god, those _fangs_ , they did something for you. But he was also a nuisance. So every day you would play your little game. He’d lie in wait, like you were his choice prey, and then stride through the crowd to you, booming your name and more often than not giving some old lady a fright. You’d hide your smile, and then usually the conversation would go something like this:

“Good morning! You look radiant, as always,” he’d say, flashing his teeth in a dazzling smile. You’d roll your eyes and shake the flour from your clothes.

“Hello, Gaston. How are you?”

“Better for seeing you,” he’d growl, and wink. “But you look tired. You shouldn’t be working, you know. That’s a man’s job. You should be making a home, be on some strapping fellow’s arm.”

“Well, some of us would rather be bakers than wives. Have you any plans today? Are you going to be productive or just stand around and bother me?”

"Well, LeFou and I are going on a hunt, and then this evening I believe the two of us have dinner,” he’d state, taking your hand, running a calloused thumb over your knuckles. Once again, you’d find yourself rolling your eyes and withdrawing yourself from his grasp.

“Alas, I’m too busy doing a ‘man’s’ work. Now buy some bread or leave me be,” you’d say, and turn on your heel. He’d laugh the good natured-laugh of someone who very much hadn't given up.

“I'll see you tomorrow, my beauty.”

And he always would.

In your heart of hearts you weren't quite sure why you kept saying no to his offer of dinner. Gaston was self-absorbed and pompous, sure, but going out with him one evening might be fun. God knows, you had little enough of that in your life.

Shrugging the thought off, you’d then always get ready to open for the day.

 

 

  
The routine had began to change when he’d gotten you the first bouquet of flowers. You’d opened the bakery door to get some air and walked straight into them where Gaston was presenting his gift. A leaf poked you in the eye and you swore.

“Ah! What? I-”

You took a moment to try and work out what was going on. Then you took it all in, the proud Gaston, the wad of roses, the dazzling smile, and you were even more confused than you had been by the floral assault you'd opened your door to.

“Good morning!” he announced, pushing the flowers into your hands, and himself inside your home. You were so taken aback you just let him. He looked around and sniffed. “Hmm. Smaller than I’d anticipated. Oh well, no matter! Those flowers should brighten things up a bit.”

Things were still working themselves out in your head.

“These… are for me?”

“No, they’re for LeFou,” he scoffed, “Yes of course they’re for you! Do you love them?”

He grinned in a way that suggested he knew you would.

“They’re… vibrant,” you conceded, amazed that Gaston had managed to find roses almost the exact same shade as his coat, as if by offering them to you you’d always have a little reminder of him. Typical Gaston. And yet…

You'd never had flowers given to you by a man before. And it was… nice. You felt a little flush rising up from your chest to your cheeks. But, you hadn't quite finished what you’d been saying, and before you could stop yourself you’d added, “But I prefer daffodils.”

Gaston’s smile faltered for a second. This was probably the first time he’d had any complaints about any of his gifts.

“Oh,” he said, his brow furrowing. You realised you'd probably offended him.

“No, no, these are lovely, I didn't mean I didn't like them, I –”

Suddenly his finger was on your lips. It was a rather rude way of shushing you but it worked. If you weren’t flustered before you certainly were now. The feeling of his rough fingertip on your lips sent chills shooting down your spine.

“No, if you like daffodils, then daffodils you shall have!” he said, grin back on his face as if it had never left. He’d gone to leave, as if it was his mission to go and find the flowers right then, but you grabbed him by the arm.

“Wait,” you said, losing some of the flowers to the floor without both hands to support them. Gaston looked at where you were resting your palm against his muscle and traced his eyes up to yours. You swallowed your embarrassment and kept going.

“Why did you get these for me?”

Gaston looked almost offended that you had asked.

"Because you’re a beautiful woman, and beautiful women deserve beautiful flowers.”

Your mouth opened and closed again. You looked from the deep red roses to Gaston’s gorgeous green eyes.

“Gaston… what are your plans for the day?”

“Well there are some wolves that have been giving the townsfolk grief so I’m going to go and wipe out the pack, and then…” he saw the way you were looking at him and finally cottoned on. “…And then, we're having dinner.”

A small smile crept on your face.

“Yes. We are.”

 

  
And so that had been that. You had run the bakery without thinking - your stomach was too full of butterflies, head too full of Gaston.

Dinner. How did you feel? How were you meant to feel? Anxious? Excited? By the time evening had drawn in and you were closing down it was almost time for you to meet him. You were about to leave when you caught sight of yourself in a mirror. Oh god. Your hair was a mess and there was flour all over your skirts. You weren’t particularly vain but you felt like you had to make an effort, so spent a frantic few minutes rummaging through your clothes, and then your mother’s old ones. Eventually you found something that would have to do, an old purple thing that was as close as you had to formal. Your heart was in your mouth when you heard the knock on your door. You’d opened it tentatively, worried he might laugh at you.

In Gaston’s hand was a bunch of daffodils. When he laid eyes on you he looked as if he had never seen a woman before. He took your hand even though you hadn’t offered it and kissed your knuckles while staring in your eyes.

“Ravishing,” he murmured. You tried to hold back a girlish giggle.

“Me or you?”

“Both,” he decided on, and kept his hold on your hand as you walked down the stairs.

 

 

 

  
And it went… so well. You were surprised what a gentleman Gaston had the ability to be. He was attentive and easy to talk to, and soon your nerves had gone completely, and though he ate as if he was inhaling his food, nothing about the whole situation felt… awkward. It all felt so natural.

“So why do you live alone? Why not find a handsome husband to take care of you, give you a big family?” he asked, with genuine curiosity. It was the kind of question that could be taken with malice, but you knew he didn’t mean it like that. You laughed and took a sip of wine.

“Because before I’m anyone’s wife I’m my own person. I like being independent. I like my bakery. I like having men fawn over me,” your said, casting your eyes up to meet his as you spoke. He cocked a brow which made you shiver internally.

“Yet I’ve not seen you out with any of these hordes of admirers,” he joked.

“Well. You’re the first one to bring me daffodils.”

It fuelled his ego, you knew, but you didn’t mind. With a little smug smile on his face he ordered more wine.

Yes, the evening went brilliantly, and when you left, alcohol-fuzzy, you'd agreed to let him walk you home. You were giggling like an idiot and though he was drunk, Gaston was a lot more stable on his feet than you were, and so was an excellent support for you to clutch on to. Through the warmness of the alcohol you pressed your fingers into his bicep and noticed how nice his muscles were, setting off another wave of laughter.

“You should laugh more. You have a gorgeous laugh. A gorgeous laugh for a beautiful woman,” he said. You tittered and slapped him playfully.

“Oh, hush.”

“No, I refuse! Everyone must know!” he shouted, and jumped up onto the town statue and began to call your name as if it was a battle cry. You were in hysterics as you tried to shush him.

“This woman is the most beautiful in the town – no, in all of France! Anyone who disagrees can duel me tomorrow!”

“ _QUIET OUT THERE_!” came a voice from a shuttered window. You clapped your hand over your mouth and tugged Gaston back to the ground.

“Sorry Monsieur Jean!” you squeaked, ushering a laughing Gaston away, towards your house on the outskirts of town.

You remind laughing and talking on the rest of the way back. It was only when you got your door that silence fell. What were you to do now? You braved a look into Gaston’s eyes, which were ready to meet yours.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” you said, genuinely. Gaston once again took your hand, mirroring his actions from earlier, but laid a barrage of kisses into your palm. They sent strings of fire up your body.

"The pleasure was all mine,” he replied, voice low, before looking resigned. “I suppose I should be on my way…”

You weren't sure what it was that prompted your next decision. Maybe it was the kisses, maybe it was the wine that still lingered on your lips, or maybe it was the way that he looked so beautiful in the moonlight – whatever it was, something spurred you on. You reached forward to place his face in your hands, loving the juxtaposition of his rough facial hair against the soft kisses that had just been on your palm, and you put your mouth to his.

His lips were warm and for second unresponsive as he tried to take in what is going on, and then suddenly they were all too receptive against your own. Striding up the stairs that led to your door Gaston pushed into you, his chest flush against your own, opening his mouth when he felt your tongue brush against his. One large, warm hand cupped your waist to keep you in place, the other went to your jaw and stroked your cheek. You hummed into the kiss as you felt his fangs gently tease you. Your hand scrambled desperately for the doorknob and it squeaked as it turned.

You hooked two fingers into Gaston’s collar and tried to tug him inside after you, but he put up just a little resistance.

“What will the villagers say?” he said, only half joking.

“The villagers will keep their mouths shut if they want bread,” you said, but still saw trepidation in his eyes. “Look. Gaston. I won't make you if you don't want to. But know that I want to. It’s not the first time I've lain with a man.”

“Minx,” he growled, and that was enough to bring him into your house and have him shut the door behind you.

It was all hands and mouths as you scribbled the short distance to the bedroom. You made quick work of his jacket and shirt, and his broad chest was revealed to you, covered in luscious thick hair. You twirled it around your fingers, tugging gently, loving the little groans of pleasure he made. In return he pulled the sleeves of your dress down, dragging the top of your garment down, revealing your breasts. Your nipples peaked as the cold air hit them, but they were not left unprotected for long, as Gaston reached his head down and began to mouth them with vigour. He teased them between his teeth, first one then the other, and you moaned as his fangs caught the sensitive flesh, and you grabbed a handful of hair to drag his face back up and kiss him.

You tumbled back onto the bed, both hot and heavy, as Gaston tried to remove your dress by pulling it down. You giggled, “it goes up over my head.”

“Damn thing,” Gaston muttered, giving up trying to remove the garment. Instead he threw your skirts up and buried himself under them. You were are a bit confused but didn’t have time to question as in a handful of seconds you felt him tugging at your smallclothes, bringing them roughly down to round your knees before burying his face in you. You squealed as he wasted no time parting your slick folds with his tongue, dipping in and out of your rapidly wetting entrance.

“ _Aah_!” you gasped in pleasure as his strong hands went to your ass, cupping your hard, digging his fingers into the flesh. You wished you could look down and watch him but your skirts were in the way, curse them. Having no way to predict his next move all you could do was throw your head back and clench your fists in the sheets, giving yourself over to ecstasy. Between his roughness and cleverness, you quickly found yourself reaching your climax on his tongue, crying out as you came. He lapped you up before moving up your body, kissing every bare inch of skin up to your mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he growled, and you obligingly kissed him, tasting your release on his tongue before biting down hard on the thick muscle between his neck and his shoulder. He cried out and you felt his hands go for his britches to rid himself of them. Instead he undid only enough clothing to free his cock – you weren’t able to see it, damn these layers of clothing, but when he took himself in his hand and began to rub the leaking head against your cunt, you began to get a sense of his girth, and your mouth watered.

“Put it in me, Gaston. Fuck me,” you whispered, pleading. He obliged instantly, pushing himself into you, parting tender flesh. He was big. He was wide and filled you deliciously, and long too – every time you thought he was fully sheathed, he pushed in a bit more and made you cry out. When he began to fuck you he was rough but you were so wet it felt marvellous. His cock hammered in and out of you and you heard his balls slap against you skin as he only sped up. You were seeing stars and he saw no sign of letting up, and you were aware that you were crying out in ecstasy. Who cared if the neighbours heard you – who cared if anyone heard you? You were with Gaston and tonight he was yours, all yours.

His thrusts became erratic and his head dropped to the crook of your neck, teething the pulse there.

“Say my name,” he hissed.

“ _Gaston_!” you cried out, wrapping your legs round him the best you could, and you felt him release into you, heavy pumps filling you up. You crescendoed together, cries filling the night.

 

 

 

You pounded the meat of your palms into the dough, taking only a second to wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your arm. Working in a bakery was hard at the best of times, let alone on days like this with both the summer sun beating down and the ovens on full blast. But what were you to do? Bread needed baking and you needed money. You hauled the tray into the oven, tight muscles flexing, before heading out into the fresh air.

It had been a couple of days since your… liaison with Gaston. After the two of you had climaxed he had fallen into the bed beside you, and between exhaustion and wine the two of you had fell asleep. The next morning your head was pounding but the bakery needed to be opened. So you'd woken him up, trying not to be flustered by the groggy smile he gave you upon seeing your face.

“I've got to… start baking, so…” you'd explained. He'd blinked blearily, looking round, and shuffled to his feet.

“Oh, right… I’ll…” he got himself dressed and you saw him off. You wondered if he’d seemed a little unhappy to go, but you put it down to the fact you were waking him up so early. Probably nothing more than that. After all what else could it have been except a night of fun for the two of you? You had no intentions of marriage, you’d oftentimes made that clear.

But still. You hadn't talked since then, and you didn’t want things to be uncomfortable. After all you still liked the man. So as you closed up shop on the third day, you went hunting for the hunter. After traipsing round town for half an hour, you finally clapped eyes on a familiar sight.

“Oh, LeFou!” you said. LeFou was talking to a man you'd seen in the tavern before, and he looked less than pleased to see you.

“He’s in the stables,” LeFou said, answering what you hadn’t even asked, clearly keen to have you gone quickly.

“Oh… thank you,” you said, heading off as you'd been advised.

The stables were surprisingly empty, and you caught Gaston on the way out. He froze for a second in surprise when he saw you. You took one of your hands up from where you’d been unconsciously wringing your apron and gave him a little wave.

“Hello there stranger,” you said. Gaston’s expression softened as you closed the gap.

“What’s this? You're out of that bakery for once? Such a rare sight I'd best have you stuffed for my collection,” he joked. You rolled your eyes.

“Alright, I bake a lot. But still, you had plenty of chances to come and see me,” you said, not upset exactly, but… concerned.

"I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said, and for just a second you thought you saw a flash of something. Something tender beneath that bravado of his. But just as quickly it was gone, and the old Gaston was back.

“Look, the truth is –”

“Gaston, I –”

You spoke together, but Gaston gestured for you to continue.

“I haven't stopped thinking about that night.”

The effect was immediate. Gaston shifted, raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Every time I think of you I remember how you felt inside me, so hot and thick and…” you closed the gap, pressing yourself against him, breathing gently on the exposed part of his neck. You weren’t quite sure how things transpired from then, but next you knew you were being held up against the back of the stable where you were out of view, one of Gaston’s hands pistoning three fingers in and out of you, the other clamped over your mouth to stop you crying out in ecstasy too loudly. You were sure you got some splinters when he fucked you, but you were too orgasm-drunk to care.

"You brute.”

“You love it.”

 

 

It became a bit of a… pastime after that. Every now and then Gaston would come to the bakery, or you’d be hanging around the tavern, and the two of you would end up in a most compromising position. He learnt you liked to have as many fingers buried in your pussy as possible, and you learnt he’d come almost immediately when he felt his cock hit the back of your throat. It was nice. It was… pleasurable. But you never thought it was more than fun.

One evening, when you’d just finished being fucked hands and knees into the mattress, Gaston complained of being hungry, so with an eyeroll you brought him some bread from the bakery. He reclined, tearing hunks off and devouring it, getting crumbs all over the sheets, and watched you.

“What?” you laughed.

“You really are beautiful, you know. I never lied about that,” he said, with a quiet earnest. You cast your eyes to the ground, embarrassed but flattered, and he took a hand to the side of your face and brought you down to kiss him. This was unprecedented. The two of you barely ever kissed, just fucked. But this… there was something there. Something that perhaps wasn't before.

“And you make damned good bread.”

“Yes, I’d better, thank you very much!”

He laughed and pulled you down onto him. The next morning there were daffodils on your doorstep.

 

  
Nothing perfect can last. Gaston gently called your name from the bed as the two of you got dressed, and you replied “hm?”

“What do you think of Belle?”

Oh yes, her. You'd never really given her much thought. You hoped Gaston wasn't thinking of asking her into your bed – not that you'd necessarily object, women were just as beautiful as men, just you highly doubted Belle would agree to it, and that would make for some very awkward neighbourly relations.

“I don't know. She's pretty enough, I suppose. I like her freckles,” you conceded. Gaston nodded.

“She seems to think she’s better than everyone,” he grumbled.

“You’re just saying that because she can read.”

“I can read. I just choose not to,” Gaston scoffed. There was hesitation for a second, and then, “what do you… think of me?”

It was such a surprising question you didn't really plan an answer. You regretted what you said.

“Why does that matter?” you laughed. In your head, you meant that other’s opinions shouldn’t impact your own self worth. That was not how Gaston took it.

“Well, because _most_ people care about how they are seen by their peers.”

“What do you mean ‘most people’?” you asked, not liking the snark in his voice.

“Most people,” Gaston continued, on a roll now, “have some sort of feelings for people they’ve been laying with for six months. Most people want to be seen with the people they’re courting!”

“We’re not courting,” you laughed, not out of malice, but because you hadn't been under the impression that you were.

“No, we’re clearly not,” he spat.

“Is this about my views on marriage again?”

It was something the two of you differed on. You still didn’t want to marry, whereas Gaston was set on settling down with a wife and breeding copiously. You’d gotten round this difference in views by not talking about it.

“What you mean the ridiculous notion you hold that women can support themselves? That you can live like this forever? Perhaps, yes!”

“Oh if you care about marriage so much, go and find someone to wed!”

“ _Fine_!” Gaston shouted. Through all this the two of you had been approaching each other, getting louder and louder. You were inches away now, both furious, both too stubborn to back down. Gaston said nothing, but he left your house with heavy footsteps, slamming the door behind you.

You were upset, of course. You thought it would patch up. But it takes something drastic to bring things into view. And the next day, when you saw Gaston giving Belle a bunch of daffodils, you felt your heart break.

 

 

You had to get away for a while. You went to stay with your cousin a couple of villages over, at least until Gaston and Belle had inevitably married. You helped your cousin with the upkeep of her own family's flower shop, but you knew after a while you’d have to go back. So, after a while, with a heavy heart, you did.

What you came home to was… not what you were expecting. A story about a Beast, and Belle being captured by him? All you got from the dregs of people left in the village was that Gaston had led a hunting party after the Beast, set on killing him.

“Oh no,” you whispered, and jumped back on your horse, spurring her on as fast as you could. You followed the smoke and the sound of fighting and you soon found a battlefield.

You couldn’t quite tell who the townsfolk were battling. It looked like… furniture. But you didn’t have time to process that, you had to find Gaston, that brute, that fool. You rode your horse through the towers, shouting his name.

High up on the battlements, Gaston heard you, just as he pulled the trigger at the Beast. Too late.

His walkway crumbled, and he fell.

Had it not been for the trees breaking his fall, you were sure he would have died. You run to his side, the broken mess of a man who you’d inadvertently given your heart to over the best part of this year, and sobbed into his chest.

“Don’t die,” you said. His hand came up to your hair as he tried to look at you. He croaked your name.

“You… came back.”

“Of course I did, you lummox.”

“All of this… with Belle… it was only to make you jealous. It got out of hand, I’m sorry... I was lost without you.”

“Gaston…”

“I love you. I’ve loved you since you first told me you preferred daffodils,” he laughed, weakly. You became aware tears were pouring down your face, dripping softly onto his.

“I love you too. And if you don't die, I'll never leave you again, I promise,” you said.

“I can’t move my legs…”

You rolled up your sleeves, and put his arm around your shoulders.

“Then I’ll carry you.”

And, with great effort, Gaston lent on you and walked with you to your horse, like that night that you had been drunk and leant on him. With his hands around your waist, you rode away.

 

  
He never quite walked the same way, he always moved with a limp from then on. But at least he was walking. And he didn’t hunt any more. But you loved him with everything you possessed.

You moved to your cousin’s village and set up a new bakery. Gaston had quite a knack for it, really. And, after some years when you decided you _could_ change your mind about marriage and you let him take you to a church and make your union official, your stomach heavy with child, he kissed you with as much passion as your first time.

“Am I still a brute now?”

“Oh, yes… but you’re mine. Forever and always.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled, and pulled you in close.


End file.
